


Action

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Love Triangle, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Sex, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts in Vegas and ends in Vancouver. Everything in between is where things get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epifanie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=epifanie).



> Don't know where this came from. It started out as a funny little ficlet from a plot bunny request by *epifanie* about Jared's bachelor party and became something else about the boys' future. Hopefully it still works.

_To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. _

_-Isaac Newton_

 

 

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. At least that's what they say. But how can it stay in Vegas when you might've possibly likely slept with your best friend-slash-best man the week before your wedding? Is there a saying about that particular situation? Some kind of slogan on a souvenir coffee mug or shot glass? You'd had too much to drink at your bachelor party the night before. You know that. And when you're drunk you get more touchy-feely than usual, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, marital status, or your relationship to the person you've targeted. You know that as well. But to wake up naked in a king-sized bed basically on top of said best friend-slash-best man while he's naked is, well, a little much. Even for you...

 

"My tongue tastes like ass," Jensen groans, swallowing with a grimace.

 

"Mhfgdrn," you respond, your head pounding from the sun's rays blaring through the gauzy window curtains.

 

The thing is Jensen's skin is warm. And body parts are slotted together comfortably. And it's hard to move. To make your brain make your limbs lift when they're weighted down by about 100 pounds of booze still in your bloodstream. So you choose to stay where you are. Besides, if you do move you'll just hurl and that really doesn't sound so appealing at the moment.

 

"...Ugh...," Jensen groans again. "I'll never drink again, I'll never drink again, I'll never drink again," he murmurs like a prayer. Suddenly it hits him. "Jay?"

 

With your face buried in the crook of the older man's neck it sounds like he's yelling. "Shh," you whimper. "No yelling."

 

"Jay, you're naked."

 

"God, kill me now..."

 

"Jay, why are you naked? Better yet, why am I naked?"

 

"My head." You try to burrow deeper into the darkness. It smells nice there. Not like alcohol at all.

 

"Jay, we're naked. In your suite." Then it gets worse. "Jay, why are we both naked? In your suite? In your bed? And more importantly, why are you hugging me while we're both naked?" He asks the questions curiously, as if he's not concerned in the least.

 

You whimper again. "My head hurts." You aren't whining, whatever evidence there is to the contrary. You're just stating the truth. Your head really does hurt. In fact it hurts enough to make you cry. And if that makes you a girl you really don't care.

 

"Seriously?! Dude, we're naked in your bed, where we might've possibly done the nasty, and all you can say is 'My head hurts'?"

 

He has a point. Really. You know it. You just...Your head really does hurt. Enough to make you wanna cry. Or kill yourself. Or cry while killing yourself. How can he be so insensitive to this fact? You aren't being this mean to him, are you? No, of course not, because you wouldn't do that. You would be kind and get him some pain relievers or a hangover remedy. Something. Jen? Jen's just laying there, staring at you with his beady little-

 

"Did we do the nasty?" you finally ask when the situation catches up with you. "Was I good?" You blink. "Were you good?"

 

What? It's a valid question!

 

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus on a raft, you did NOT just ask me that!"

 

He groans and finds the energy to roll off you. If his you-know-what just happens to snag against your hip bone and you happen to think about how soft and silky the skin is, how warm and caressing the touch is, that doesn't mean anything, right? You just happen to notice. Who wouldn't in this particular situation? Seriously? What else are you supposed to do? Move? Get up from the bed and actually try finding your clothes? That takes coordination, damn it!

 

“Jay?” He's wandering around naked, unself-consciously so, as he searches for his clothing. “Get up, jackass! We gotta get downstairs!”

 

Okay. Alright. You can do this. Hey, the floor looks a little like baby puke...Not the right thing to be thinking about. Not. The. Right...You dash madly toward the bathroom, your hand over your mouth to hold it in until you reach the toilet. You drop to your knees quickly and let fly. Thirty minutes later you're able to walk back out to the bed. Where Jen is not. He's obviously left you to your own devices, the bastard. Well, at least your belly is empty and the alcohol has worked its way out of your system. You throw your own clothes on and grab the room key and your wallet and pretend that pang of loneliness is only heartburn.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

A week has passed and no one is talking about what might or might not have happened at the bachelor party. You can can only hope you didn't do anything too embarassing. Thing is, though, you still can't remember why you and Jen woke up in the same bed. Or why you woke up naked. And you still can't remember if you had sex. Because if you did shouldn't that change things? Your relationship is as always. Too close and never close enough. Normal. For you. Was he good? That's what keeps popping up in your head at the oddest moments. It's Jensen _freaking_ Ackles! The most beautiful man you have even known, who, during that brief few months of singlehood, made you question your sexuality. Your sanity. Not that you hadn't before then. Not that you don't now. Because you have since the day you met him. It's good to be honest, right? To get it off your chest. To admit you want him, have wanted him for years. Inside and out. Doesn't everyone? So is that why? You just couldn't take it anymore? He stood downwind and his cologne was too much to handle?

 

“Jared? Hello? Jared!”

 

You're at the venue running through your wedding rehearsal. The last thing you should be thinking about is your minor attraction to your co-star. Yet Genevieve is staring at you, indicating with a look that you have missed something vitally important here. She points at the altar, where you are supposed to be standing. Oh. Right. You grin sheepishly and rush up there. Stand without fidgeting even though you have a sudden case of nose tickling. Just what you don't need...

 

“You with me, Jared?” Her eyes, normally warm, are cold right now. She's pissed. Course, you're practicing for your wedding ceremony. Can't blame her when you're not paying attention.

 

“Yup. Right here, Gen. Promise.”

 

“Then stay here, okay? If that's not too much to ask.”

 

You take her hand in yours, rub at the skin on her thumb to calm her down. It's not too much to ask. For the rest of the day you stay by her side. Any time your mind starts to wander about a certain someone you forcefully look at her petite form beside you. Her dark hair, her wide mouth. You remind yourself that it is her you're marrying. Not him. He'll be standing on your other side. The groomsmen's side. But for a second, just one second, you imagine saying your vows to him instead. And it feels good. Better than you want it to.

 

“Jay, dude, time to walk back down the aisle.” This time it's him bringing you back. He's looking at you with puzzlement written all over his expression. As if he's fine with whatever might've happened. Unless nothing happened at all and you're just working yourself up over nothing-

 

“Shit!” You turn to the preacher, apologetic and shamed. “Sorry, sorry! Won't happen again. Sorry!” You grab her hand and half-walk, half-pull her down the aisle, your head hanging low. Despite your trying to hide you can tell your family, and hers, are watching you, wondering what your problem is.

 

Later, once the rehearsal is over and everyone is gone to their own rooms in the hotel you smile crookedly at her. She doesn't belive in the superstition of sleeping in a different place the night before, but both your moms do so she's packing her things. You've already apologized three times for earlier, calling it nervousness. She believed you fortunately. But as you stand there across the bed from her you consider calling Jen to your room. Just for company.

 

“I'll miss you, babe.” She smiles. “Be good?”

 

Why is that a question? You almost find yourself asking. Shouldn't it be a statement? '_Be good, husband-to-be. Be good._' Husband. Be good. You're completely sober at the moment and you kinda wish you weren't. Because you think maybe, if Jen were here instead of Gen, you'd be hearing, '_You better be good, or I'll kick your ass and tomorrow won't happen at all._' It'd be a threat and it'd work.

 

“Course. Just gonna watch a little tv and go to bed early. Got a big day tomorrow.” You smile back at her in what you hope is a reassuring manner.

 

“No calling Chad, right? You know if you do he'll do something asinine like get you drunk and ring up strippers since you didn't have any at your bachelor party.”

 

You shake your head in agreement. She doesn't have to know that there actually were strippers at the party. Or that you got a lap dance for free because the girl was a Supernatural fan. She especially doesn't need to know that the dance did nothing for you because you were too busy watching Jen get his to think of your bride. You smile again and promise not to call Chad at any time during the night, no matter how scared you get of the dark or any scary sounds. She laughs at that and pecks you on the lips before leaving, safe in the knowledge that her man wants only her.

 

You hit #3 on your speed dial as soon as the door closes. “I need to talk to you. Now,” you say as soon as he picks up.

 

Only a few minutes pass before there's a knock on your door. You let him in silently, taking a deep breath. You sit in the chair beside the bed, aware that if you both sit there you might not be able to successfully say what you know needs to be said. Aware that part of you, a hidden part deep down inside, might not be able to say anything at all if he's that near. He sits in the chair on the opposite side of the bed at the desk. The room isn't even alll that big, yet he feels miles away. And it's clear he's just as scared of what that bed now represents as you are.

 

“Shouldn't you be getting some sleep, Jay? You got a big day ahead of you, you know?” He won't look at you as he speaks. Just looks past you out the window.

 

“Do you remember anything about my bachelor party?” you ask bluntly, not bothering to answer him.

 

He shakes his head sharply, his eyes widening. “No. Why would I? Do you?”

 

“No. That's why I'm asking, Jen. Because I don't remember a thing and I keep wondering how we ended up naked in each other's arms in my bed.” You both look at it involuntarily. “Do you think we slept togther?”

 

“I...I don't know.” His eyes are a vivid green, wet and wild-looking. Like thick moss growing uninhibited in a marsh. “I don't think so?” What is up with people asking you questions when they should be telling you facts?

 

“I can't help wondering if we did,” you tell him to shake him up a little. “I think, even if we were too drunk to follow through, we tried. And if that's true then I really shouldn't be getting married tomorrow.”

 

“So, what, you're willing to call it off at the last hour over something that might not have even happened? Over a possibility?” He stands and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

 

“Jen...” You rub your face in an attempt to...You don't even know what. “It shouldn't have been a possibility at all. Don't you get that? The fact that it is means I'm not _all here_ with my almost-wife!” You close your eyes. “Fuck! What am I supposed to do, huh?” When you open them again Jen has moved to the bed to sit closer to you, to offer strength as any friend would. “I can't marry her when I'm constantly wondering if what I really want is to marry you.” The last sentence is a whisper. A plea for him to fix it. To fix you. Make the world all right again.

 

“You love her, don't you?” This is his answer to it all. Like it's that simple. If you love her you should marry her. Forget what you may really want, what he may really want. If you love her...

 

“Of course I love her!” That's not the issue. At least not the one he should be concerned about.

 

“Then I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

He leaves, throwing what's meant to be an encouraging smile that only comes across as weak at you over his shoulder on his way out. He. Just. Leaves. Shouldn't he have fought? If he loved you enough he would've, right? Yeah, he would've. He's Jen. Your Jen. He would've fought tooth and nail for you. To win you. So this must mean he doesn't want you. Not like that. Okay. Good to know. You remember right at this moment that your room doesn't have a mini-bar. Well, shit. Where's the alcohol when you need it?!

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

The next day you marry Genevieve Cortese with God and all the people you love as witnesses. And if, for a second while you're up at the altar, you have a surreal moment where you can hear the vows coming out of her mouth as well as his, you ignore it. You tried and lost. _She_ loves you, wants to be you wife, wants to live her life with you. _She's_ willing to make that official. Genevieve didn't take your last name but you'd talked about it and figured as long as she wanted to act it'd be better for her to be seen seperately from you and your career. And you have no problem with that. Your brother made fun of you for it, and your mom wasn't exactly understanding but it's cool. Gen is her own person. That's why you love her.

 

And for a few months things are good. Then Jen has his ceremony with Danneel. Hell, she'd looked more amazing than Gen had in her dress, and _that's_ saying something. She'd looked happy. So you'd kept your mouth shut when the minister asked if anyone had a reason why they shouldn't be married. You didn't say a word. But, God help you, you'd wanted to!

 

Six months later and you're still getting used to being a 'husband', to having a 'wife'. To wearing a ring on your left ring finger, to feeling its weight, to catching a glint of sun from it. It can blind if you're not careful, you've found. Like it suddenly sets itself on stun or something. And Jen seems to have taken to the role much more easily. Dani calls him on set and as soon as he hears her voice he immediately smiles. But he also makes sure to walk away when he sees you're watching. Because he doesn't have to be a genius to know him acting like that isn't the most pleasant thing for you. He doesn't want to rub it in your face...

 

“Gen's talking kids,” you blurt one night after a gruelling day of stunts and high emotion. You're sporting a big bruise on your back between your shoulderblades and your thighs are stiff from squatting too much during one of the scenes you've shot. The only reason you let the cat out of the bag at all is because you're tired. Really. It has nothing to do with wondering how he'd react.

 

He blinks slowly before turning to face you. “Already?” See? Right there? This is the reason he's so damn good as an actor. He doesn't give anything away. Except you know just from that blink that he's effected. You know because you're been learning to read him since day one.

 

“Told her it was too soon but...You know how women are.”

 

“I do?” He clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, I do. Course I do. But I thought you guys were gonna wait a while. You know? Be newlyweds for a bit.” His blinking speeds up.

 

“I thought so too.”

 

You're waiting for him to say something, to reveal how he really feels about your announcement. You're waiting to hear that he wants you to take it all back. You keep waiting, like an idiot, for him to tell you you've both made mistakes in marrying the wrong people and he's sorry but could you maybe stop fighting your natures and just get gay-married? It's stupid and all kinds of wrong but you can't help yourself. You suddenly want it more than you want your next breath. Because Jen is home to you. Home in a way your wife isn't. And no matter what you do nothing can change that.

 

He doesn't say anything. Just walks over to the Krafts table to grab a bagel. You don't mention the slight trembling of his hands as he picks the bagel up. You assume it wouldn't be appreciated.

 

The show gets canceled abuptly four episodes into the 7th season. Not that any one of you is surprised. You were ready for it to be done after five. When Eric gets the call he herds you into his office to break the news.

 

He doesn't even try to beat around the bush. Just says, “That's it, guys. Tonight's episode is the last.” He's tearing up. Supernatural was his baby so you can't blame him. But honestly? Your first instinct is to be relieved not to have to see Jen so often anymore. Maybe now you'll be able to get over him.

 

“But-” Jen tries.

 

“Just heard it from the network. We're done.”

 

“Shit!” he exclaims.

 

It's then that you realize there is no getting over him. He's shielding his face, turning so neither of you can see him crying. You reach out a hand that he grabs for desperately. And all you can think is, '_What will I do without this day after day?_' Without him near? You're so used to him, to you and him.You get up out of your chair and hug him hard. You should be upset by the fact that, though you're not related to any of the cast and crew, you've all become a family over the years. You'll miss them. Tommy the boom operator. You still don't understand what the point of his job is but you do know he had a baby girl recently that he and his wife named Ella and when she grins she claps her hands. Or Sera, another producer and writer, with her child-like giggle and love of mint-flavored food. Cliff, your bodyguard and driver, who looks like a Hells Angel and has the kindest heart. Eric, the creator of the show, with his wild ideas and crazy sense of humor. You're gonna miss this. You know you will. But while you hold Jen all you care about is his pain. His tears and his unapologetic hold on you and the fierce desire to kiss it all away.

 

“Dude, I'm so sorry,” you remember to say sincerely to Eric.

 

Somehow it brings Jen out of his own pain. “Yeah, dude. What about you?!” He struggles out of your embrace to go to Kripke. It doesn't hurt that he does it so easily. Go to someone else. Not much anyway. Besides, Kripke deserves the most sympathy at the moment. You're aware of this.

 

“Anything we can do?” you ask, going to him yourself. No one points out that the 'we' even slipped passed your lips.

 

The bald man blinks. “I...I still have to break the news to everyone else. Just wanted you guys to be the first to know.”

 

“We'll be there with you when you do it,” Jen says. He lays a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

“You don't have to-”

 

“We'll be there,” he repeats. You nod in solidarity.

 

The man just sighs.

 

Twenty minutes later Eric Kripke has called everyone to the Krafts tent for a meeting. You and Jen stand beside him while Sera stands in the back. It doesn't take much to figure it out once people get a glimpse of her tear-stained face. It's announced as soon as everyone arrives. Jeannie, on of the makeup artists and someone who has been there since the beginning, immediately starts crying. Cliff follows soon after, moving close to you and Jen in a show of support. Jen smiles softly at him in gratitude.

 

The words, as sympathetic as they are, aren't enough to soften the blow. Kripke tells everyone to let him know any time they need a work reference and he'll gladly vouch for them. And then he spontaneously decides to have an Apocalyse-themed bash at his house the next night. '_If we gotta go out, we're going out with a bang!_' he vows. Everyone whoops through their tears, you loudest of all. Such short notice means Dani and Gen are unable to make an appearance but you and Jen get rip-roaring drunk. It's not a good idea. You know it isn't. Doesn't stop you from doing it. And if your arm fails to leave Jen's shoulders the whole night, well, can you really be to blame?

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

“We really gotta stop meeting like this,” Jen says quietly.

 

Your eyes flutter open slowly. It's bright out, sunlight streaking across your chest and stomach. And you realize it's morning. You've apparently slept over at Kripke's house. In one of his guest rooms from the look of it. Jen is sitting on a window seat, one knee up with his foot resting on the edge. It takes you a second to see that he's naked. Again. Yeah, you really _do_ have to stop meeting like this...He's smoking. A habit he hasn't indulged in since the end of the first season of the series when he noticed how many stunts you'd be doing.

 

“You're smoking,” You say, stating the obvious. You have the excuse of excess, though.

 

“And you're naked. Like me. Again.” His voice is calm. He is not. Not if he's smoking.

 

“Did we...?”

 

“Unlike last time I'm pretty sure we did. Which begs the question: what is it we're playing at, Jay?”

 

You aren't sober enough, or awake enough, for this conversation. You won't be able to get out of it. You need to talk about it and not run away. But first, coffee. And a shower. And preferably some alone time. Because you remember a little. Flashes of skin. The taste of his lips. How he arched into you. The sound of him in the throes of passion. The way he called your name as he climaxed. You remember how hot his body was, like he'd been burning right through you, like there was no more you. Just one mind, one body. Your arms, his legs, his eyes, your lips. Your heart beating loudly in your ears, right in rhythm with his. No hesitation once it began. No effort to stop the inevitable. You remember that it felt nothing like it does with your wife. With Jen it was explosive, and tender, and so easy you wondered if you hadn't been doing it for centuries.

 

“I didn't realize we were playing, Jen.” You swing your legs off the bed slowly, gingerly holding your forehead while you sit up.

 

“You're married. I'm married. We have wives who would be heartbroken if they knew about this.” He looks at you as if he can't understand why you don't get that.

 

Coffee, it seems, is out of the question.

 

“You wanna do this now? Okay, then, let's do it right.” You trap his gaze with yours, pouring all you feel for him into your eyes so he can see exactly why it keeps happening. “Last time this happened was at my bachelor party. And neither one of us could remember anything about it. So we both figured we'd ignore whatever it was and go on with our lives. Right? Only I haven't been able to just go on, Jen. 'Cause I keep wondering what it felt like to be in your arms. To make love with you. To kiss you. I got married to try forgetting you and it didn't work. So now here I am. Back in the same situation. Only this time I remember and I don't think I can go back to her and pretend I don't wish she was you.” His gaze drops.

 

Your head is killing you but you have to get out of there. Away from him and his sad eyes and his beautiful mouth and the need you feel to let him swallow you whole. You have to move. Period. You find your clothes and dress, not really caring if he's watching or not. Not caring if he has something to say or not. He's made it pretty clear he wants to keep to the status quo, and you are the thing that does not belong. You don't even let your eyes turn his way as you grab your wallet and keys.You will not let yourself falter at all. You've laid yourself bare and there is nothing else to do. If he isn't strong enough to stop you, to claim you...

 

A couple years pass. You don't see or hear from him again. You ask for an annullment from Genevieve the same day she finds out she's pregnant. Just your luck, huh? She doesn't deserve any of this. It's your fault and you won't deny it. When she asks if there's someone else you don't say his name but she knows. She's always known. At least she lets you be a part of the pregnancy. When nine months are over and she gives birth to a boy she even names him Tristan after you. You have no say in the matter. You'd always hated the name but on your son it seems right. He even seems to recognize it. He looks right you every time you say it into his little ear. He smiles every time you count his miniature fingers and toes. And it helps. Having something in your life that means more than yourself. It helps ease the ache of losing. Tristan Jared Padalecki. Your son...

 

It turns out you're not so bad at being a single father. You and Genevieve are good at sharing, at compromising. You always knew she would be, but you? It's surprising. You thought she was the strong one, the survivor. It's funny. When she sees you she still smiles. It's not as happy as it used to be but she doesn't hate you, which is more than you ever thought you had the right to ask for. She asks how you are and she honestly acts like she wants to know the answer. And when you find out she's dating a man her agent hooked her up with you are genuinely happy for it. You hope it works out. You never wanted anything but her happiness.

 

Thing is, you miss being touched. Touching. Genevieve was so free with her affection. And you tend to overwhelm people with it. Now, though, since you don't date and you only see your baby every couple months, there aren't that many people willing to be mobbed by you. Vancouver, and maybe you shouldn't have stayed but..., keeps you busy with part after part. Most of them small and the shoots are pretty short so you don't have enough time to get to know anyone. Not like him. There hasn't been anyone like him since. The series is in syndication. Great for your bank account but hard on your self-esteem. You haven't had an opportunity to be a lead again. So there you have it. No girlfriend, no one-night stands, no close friends even in the same country. But you've built up a nice following here and it's quiet. And your house is so damn silent some days it takes all you have not to go bat-shit crazy.

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

“You gonna let me in or what?” he asks uncertainly once you answer your phone.

 

It's been five years since you've spoken to him, let alone seen him, and this is what he says when you finally do speak. It's not supposed to be this way. It's not supposed to feel like a sucker-punch to your gut when you hear his voice. Yet it does. It feels like you have been waiting all these years to breathe again. '_You gonna let me in or what?_' A simple question. '_You gonna let me in...?_' Maybe now he's ready. God, you want him to be ready. You've been wanting it so long. Staying free for him. '_...Let me in..._'

 

You open the door still holding the phone against your ear. “Or what?” He looks...The bags under his eyes are permanent now and he hasn't been eating enough since his jeans are hanging off his hips. His hands have more wrinkles than they used to. His lips don't look quite as rosy. And yet he still looks like your Jen. “...Hey...” you say.

 

“Hey.” He blinks nervously, licking his lips. “Can I come in or do I need a written invitation?”

 

You finally hang up your phone and move back from the threshold. You watch as he walks into your house like he's completely comfortable being here. Like he's acting. Playing the part of a self-assured man coming home. You can't help wondering if this is why he's shown up. Is he? Coming home? To you?

 

“How are you, Jay?” It's a loaded question. One you're not sure you should answer. But you never have been able to lie to him. Not well, though you've tried. You decide to tell him and let him do with it whatever he will.

 

“Been better.” You smile as you gaze at him, holding nothing back. “Been worse. But I'm still standing so it ain't all bad.”

 

“...Yeah. Me too.”

 

He sits down in the corner of the loveseat, laying his arm to rest along the back. Your eyes catalogue the movement. His hand as it slides across the smooth material. The sound of his jeans rubbing against the floor. His boots, black, cracked all along the leather, scuffed. They're the same boots Dean used to wear on the series. He'd apparently kept them as a souvenier. Some things never change...

 

“You, uh,” you shake yourself, think of your mother and your bad manners, “you want anything to drink? I have juice and water and coffee. I know you love coffee,” you ramble.

 

“It's six o'clock in the evening, Jay. I think I'm good.” He smiles while saying it, as if something coiled inside him has loosened now that he can tell it's not easy for you either.

 

You blush in embarassment. “Right.” Right. Of course. “So...” You can't think of a thing to say except, “What are you doing here?” Not what you meant to ask but you would like to know.

 

“Well, that's a good question, Jay.” He shrugs. Exhales. “I'm here because I made a mistake last time we were together. I let you go when I should've held on. So I'm here...I guess I'm here to not let you go again.”

 

Your brain freezes.

 

“Jay?” He closes his eyes briefly before widening them. “I'm too late, aren't I? You're taken! Shit! Shoulda known, right? I deserve that. I just thought maybe...I mean I had some stuff to figure out. You know? I had to make sure _I_ was ready to do this. And now you're _not_ ready anymore. You've-”

 

You rush over to him to slap a hand over his mouth. “Jen?” He raises his head. “Shut up. I'm the only one who's allowed to ramble, okay?” He nods, huffing what feels like a laugh through the slight gaps between your fingers. “You're not too late.” You take your hand away. This time you have to hear what he has to say.

 

Jen opts not to say anything at all. Instead he pulls your face down and plants a kiss on you. It's dizzying, shocking, gentle. It's everything you imagined. And this time you are completely sober. There is no alcohol shadowing the edges, blunting the impact. This time you are aware of how _right_ it feels. His hands sink into your hair as he breathes you in. You fall down onto him. It doesn't matter that loveseats aren't made for one six-foot plus man, or that twice that could possibly break the poor piece of furniture. What matters is he isn't stopping. And your hands have found his shoulders. You touch everywhere, enjoying the fact that you can now, that you're allowed. This caress along his collarbone, this lick at his clavicle? You have permission to do this now. And there is no stopping anymore.

 

You roll over onto the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table legs. His weight settles easily into you and you welcome it. Have craved it too much to deny it, even though it's a little hard to catch your breath. When you grip his hips he gasps into your mouth before dipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth. You groan audibly, hardening in seconds. The floor isn't the best place but you refuse to move. You have your man now and you're not letting go.

 

“Jen,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “Please!” You're not above begging, especially when it causes what he does next.

 

“Yeah, baby. I'm here.”

 

His hands pulls at your shirt, getting it over your head in record time. You'll be surprised if later you don't find any rips in it. But you like that he's out of control, that he needs you just as much. When his fingers find your belt buckle he slows down, looking into your eyes for confirmation. You nod. Whatever he wants to do to you is fine by you. As long as he does something. He unfastens the belt, then pulls the zipper down on your jeans. Before you can even blink your boxer briefs are gone as well. You can feel a breeze, then nothing, then wet warmth. You choke on any other thoughts. His tongue feels rough on you, hungry, and God, it's good. What no woman has ever been able to do for you. Make it like this. Hard enough to leave a mark, to make you always remember. This is how it's supposed to be. You know that now. Know this is what you've been missing.

 

His teeth add themselves to the mix harshly. You gasp, thrusting your hips up, pleading for more of the sensation. He pushes on your stomach, holding you down, while he works you expertly. When you orgasm it's with his name tearing out of your throat. You don't have a chance to calm down all the way before he's undressing himself and climbing on top of you. He sinks down quickly, too quickly, whimpering, climaxing himself within a minute. After, he kisses you again languidly.

 

“Jesus...” you grunt hoarsely, exhausted.

 

He chukles, his own throat full of gravel. “I'll second that.”

 

“We wasted a lot of time, didn't we, Jen?”

 

This time the chuckle turns into full-blown, bittersweet laughter. “I'll second that,” he repeats.

 

Your eyelids droop and your back is starting to stiffen up but you find yourself content to stay here just like this. Your lips form a grin. No matter what happened then this is all that you want to happen now. You and Jen together again, making love, making a life. Details are unimportant and can be figured out later. This right here, him in your arms with his cheek resting over your heart, is perfect as is.

 

“Jen?” you call in the quiet. You're really glad your dogs are with your son and Genevieve at the moment. Tristan woud probably be traumitized to see you naked with another man in your arms and a stupid grin on your face.

 

“Hm?” He traces indecipherable objects on your exposed abdomen, tickling you.

 

You grin wider. “You called me 'baby'.” You inhale deeply, let your lungs expand, then contract as your exhale.

 

“Shut up. I did not!” He fake-punches you for pointing it out.

 

“It's okay. I liked it. So, you know, if you wanted to do it more, like, all the time, you could. I mean I wouldn't mind.”

 

“You wouldn't, huh?” You feel him smile. “Well, okay then...” You turn your head to kiss his forehead. Wrap your other arm around him so you're holding him, no longer amazed by how comfortable he is, how easy you're found the position to be. “...Baby...”

 

You sigh. _Baby_. It sounds good coming from him. Like how the endearment is meant to sound. Finally.


End file.
